The Begining of the End
by slytherpride
Summary: "Angels do not feel pity..." Just a one-shot about how our favorite angel, Castiel, pulls dean from perdition, plus a cool new character I think you'll enjoy.


Castiel plunged into hell with enough force to split an atom. The humans just saw his descent into perdition as some sort of galactic phenomenon; who knew that a comet could disappear seconds after plunging down to earth?

The angel pushed on, beating his wings quickly but steadily as he broke through the Earth itself, emerging in a seemingly endless cavern he knew spanned wider than the physical planet. He glided along the cavern "ceiling", searching for the Fields of Punishment, where he knew the righteous man's soul resided. Spotting his target near a range of crumbling mountains, the angel tucked in his wings, and plunged downward.

He descended quickly and quietly; the only sound he made was the ruffle of his wings shifting to accommodate his flight. He neared the bottom of the pit, spread his wings, and dropped. He rolled twice, absorbing the impact from his drop and landed readily on one knee, two blades drawn, ready to attack. He looked around carefully, calculating with deadly precision the quickest way to reach the fields from his location.

His mission was simple: Find and retrieve the righteous man from perdition. Eliminate all those who crossed his path. He didn't know why; he didn't ask questions. All he knew were his orders, and he was going to follow them no matter what.

Suddenly, Castiel heard a sharp hiss, followed by a guttural roar of sorts. Spinning on his knees, he whipped his arm forward, releasing one of the blades. The blade soared through the air, smoothly and truly, before hitting its mark. The silver was lodged in the female demons' chest, the well polished handle contrasting the black filth that was once her soul. Castiel stood, stretching his wings out behind him, before reaching to pluck the blade from the demons' body.

Castiel resumed surveying his surroundings. Jagged mountains in the distance. The Fields of Punishement just a small distance downhill. Demons and hellhounds everywhere. He started forward.

"Welcome to hell, angel." Castiel whipped around, blades ready again as he searched for the speaker. "Over here sweetheart," the voice purred. Castiel turned to his left and spotted her-no-it. He squinted, trying to see her soul through her 'body'…and saw nothing. Castiel tensed. The thing was in the form of a woman. Blond hair. White dress. Unarmed.

Deadly.

Castiel raised his wings behind him, letting them stretch to their full span, trying to scare the thing off. It seemed to have read his mind. She chuckled, bringing her hands to her hips and back to her sides again. "Oh honey," she said in that sickeningly sweet tone. "Your big bad wings don't scare me."

"What are you?" Castiel asked, not moving his wings. "What do they call you?" The woman took a light step forwards, her bare feet leaving no marks on the dusty ground. "I asked you a question," the angel threatened, preparing to throw his blade. "Oh angel," she said again, continuing to advance. Castiel held his ground, not willing to give in to whatever this thing was. It continued moving towards him, a sinister smile curling on her perfectly shaped lips. She stopped right in front of him, close enough to touch. "I am Koschei," she whispered, grabbing onto the straps of Castiel's armor. "I am the deathless." Castiel froze, letting Koschei run her fingers along his armor, skimming the celestial material of his chest plate. She leaned in to whisper in his ear. "And I am the soulless."

Castiel shoved Koschei back, causing her to stumble, but not to fall. Regaining her balance, she began to circle the angel, sizing him up. "So," she said coyly. "You come here often?" Castiel turned with her, never letting his back to her. "No?" she continued, swinging her arms back and forth like a child. "Bummer, I was thinking we could go out sometime, grab a drink, smite a few demons...you'd like that…wouldn't you, Castiel?" "How do you know my name?" Castiel demanded, stalling for time. He didn't understand. How do you kill a thing with no soul?

Koschei seemed to know what he was thinking. "You can't kill me," she said, smiling widely. "I don't have a soul. I can't be damned, I can't be eradicated completely, I can only get stronger, and stronger and-OOMPH!" she was interrupted by a blade being thrown into her chest. Black ichor oozed from the wound, soaking the front of her dress. "Well," she grunted, pulling out the blade, "that was rude."

"Worth a shot," the angel said, readying his other blade. Koschei sighed, throwing the blade to the ground beside her. "You know, you're cute for an angel. You have quite a nice…" she ran her eyes across his form, taking in everything hungrily. "Physique," she finished. She continued her pacing, carelessly kicking a human skull, letting it roll across the ground.

"Too bad, really," she said, bringing a thoughtful finger to her chin. "You would have made an excellent pet…" Koschei threw her arm in front of her, slicing her hand across the air. Castiel was jerked to the side by an invisible force, knocking him to the ground. Castiel leapt to his feet, bringing his own arm up in retaliation. He made a fist, brought it down and-

Nothing. He couldn't use his powers, at least not against her. Koschei laughed, throwing her head back and howling into the night. "Oh," she gasped. "Angel, you can't use your powers on me, I'm immortal!" She stopped laughing suddenly, turning to face him with hate in her eyes and insanity on her face. She rushed at him with blinding speed, knocking him on his back and straddling him with her legs. Her blond hair brushed his face, and the smell of death filled his nostrils. She gave a low laugh, leaning in to whisper against his face. "Boy am I gonna have fun with you."

Suddenly, Koschei threw her head up, looking alarmed. "No," she whispered frightfully. "She looked back down at Castiel. "You can't!" She looked up again, searching the terrain with fear in her eyes. "No!" Castiel was about to lunge up, ready to throw her off, when she vanished, right from on top of him, not a sign of her in sight. He leaped to his feet, looking around for what spooked her. Finding noting, Castiel fluttered his wings and adjusted his armor.

Castiel turned back, spotting the torture fields about a mile ahead. He started forward, slicing apart or burning down any demons or hellish creatures that dared cross his path. The souls in the field burned, some brightly lit with righteousness, not yet broken, others a burning mass of fury and desperation, lashing out. Every soul was different, beautiful and terrifying in its own way. They all shined the same silver, with the underlay's of different life stories below that, again, beautifully and terrifyingly unique.

Angels could see color, though they paid little attention to it. The difference between a red bird and a blue bird made little difference to a being that has seen things unthinkable to the greatest imagination. However, the color inside one particular soul made Castiel stop dead in his tracks. The soul itself was a shimmering silver, just like all the others here, turning darker every second. The color _inside_ the soul, made the angel shiver. A green, greener than the freshest grass or the ripest apple, blossomed out of the souls center, outlining the gold and black twisting itself deeper into the soul every moment.

Castiel paid closer attention, noticing the unique colors of each soul hidden beneath the silver; a rosy pink, a deep purple, a golden yellow. One soul, its insides almost completely black, lunged towards the angel, making him move his feet once again.

Another soul, one being tortured by a demon with fire for hair and a skull as a head, reached to Castiel, arms outstretched and eyes pleading. Castiel searched her soul, finding a nothing but despair, and longing, and regret. Castiel stopped, letting the soul grip onto his armor helplessly, cringing as the demon sunk a heated knife into her spine. Castiel noticed she paid little attention to the demon, which was now reduced to a pile of dust, even though she had a knife protruding out of her back. Castiel touched her forehead, learning her story within a matter of milliseconds.

Her name was Bella Tabbot. She sold her soul, was a murderer, a thief, and a con-artist. Her soul was a mint green, the same color as the bedroom she had when she was a child. Castiel removed his hand from her forehead, searching for any sign of good within her soul, and finding barely a trace.

She was almost gone, almost broken, mint turning to black.

Castiel sighed and removed her from his armor, fluttering his wings uneasily. He could not stop again, no matter how much the grace inside of him burned. He continued his march, ignoring the out stretched hands, the cries for help, for mercy, for forgiveness. He tried to block them out, focusing instead on his mission, to save the righteous man, to please his superiors.

The angel finally reached the soul, the righteous man. It was restless, twisting and knotting itself into complicated patterns and forms. Castiel reached out, captivated by its beauty. The soul bucked away, spooked and angered. Castiel lunged forward, snagging the soul with his hand.

The other demons and souls in the field were gaining confidence, approaching the angel wearily at first, then darting closer to peer between his wings. Castiel turned, tucking the righteous man beneath his arm, taking a defensive stance.

His superiors had warned him that this might happen. That the demons and souls might retaliate; the demons wanting to keep the souls to themselves so that they may gorge themselves on its beauty, the souls seeking the angels mercy, wanting nothing more than to return home. Castiel had prepared himself for the demons, but so many needy souls were beginning to take its toll on his already too big heart.

Castiel steeled himself, securing the soul-now beginning to relax against the angel's side- before drawing on all of his strength, focusing it to his wings. Castiel stretched them, as far as they could go, reaching back so far he felt he would snap. Then, with a mighty cry, he pushed them forwards, beating the dry air and stirring a current so strong it caused the remaining souls to fly backwards, dispersing back to where they came from. The demons were incinerated, leaving nothing but piles of sulfur where they once stood.

Castiel looked around at the damage his powerful wings caused. The long dead grass was flattened, leaving a clear view back to the mountains. No demons were in sight, leaving the remaining souls drifting about wearily. Castiel looked upon them, a strange sensation building in his chest.

He crouched, preparing for the flight out of hell. He paused. Something was off. Castiel checked the soul, nestled tightly within his armor. It was glowing brightly, brighter than any soul that he had ever seen before. It burned his feathers slightly, as though it was trying to tell him something without hurting him. He removed the soul, clutching it in his hand.

"I apologize," he said, clearly puzzled. "I am afraid I do not understand." The soul glowed brighter in response, fighting its way from the angels grasp and rushing forwards.

"Excuse me," the angel said, stepping forwards to reclaim the soul. "What are you doing?"

The soul turned in a circle, as if trying to show Castiel something. Finally the angel understood.

"The souls," he said. "You want me to free the other souls." Castiel looked across the field at the souls now awaiting their torture beside their racks, like they were surely trained to do. He felt the strange feeling again, placing it with the human word: pity.

But angels did not feel pity.

Castiel reached forward, his face hardening once more into the impassive mask of a soldier. He grasped the soul, tighter this time, and folded one of his wings protectively around it. The soul was persistent though, burning hot, so hot that Castiel's feathers began to burn. Castiel unwrapped his wing, glaring at the righteous man.  
"No," he said. "I have disobeyed my superiors once, I will not do it again." Castiel pushed the soul back beneath his wings, and adjusted his breastplate.

Castiel crouched once more, beating his wings towards the ground, and shot up into the air.

Castiel broke through the ground next to the gravesite, setting the soul down carefully beside him. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the body he was standing above, mending his bones, his muscles, and his broken skin. He even mended his clothes, repairing the torn fabric.

The angel opened his eyes once more, looking over to the soul. It was restless, lurching sideways, back and forth, up and down, sensing its former body nearby. Castiel cupped the soul in his hands, feeling its unrest and impatience. He walked over to the grave, and blew gently on the soul, sending it back down to its original body.

He turned his head skyward, launching himself into the air with a triumphant cry.

"Dean Winchester is saved!"


End file.
